Tag: Baroque

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Music for These Troubled Times

CD cover Music for these troubled times

Tallis, Byrd, Bull, Gibbons, Shalygin
Dmytro Kokoshynskyy harpsichord
79:16
Fuga Libra FUG867

This is the debut recording by Dmytro Kokoshynskyy, a young harpsichordist from Ukraine. In the accompanying booklet he relates how music provides him with the solace he deeply needs in the most challenging moments of his life, that no repertoire has done so more fully than the music of the English Virginalists, and that it was no surprise to him that this music filled his mind when his homeland was invaded in 2022. For its evangelists and admirers, these sentiments regarding the English virginalist school of composers are both gratifying and humbling. Dmytro also refers to Robert Burton’s celebrated book The anatomy of melancholy (1621) so there is ample subtext behind his choice of repertory for this recording.

Listening to this disc was, is, for this reviewer a compelling experience, and the choice of repertory is one element that goes towards this. The other two elements are the quality of the music, and the incendiary commitment of the performances. The pieces selected from the works of the well-known composers tend to exist beneath their radars. Gibbons’s supremely melancholy and profound pavan is usually elbowed aside by the admittedly great pavan for Lord Salisbury. Byrd’s fantasia with its vestige of Salve regina chant tends to give way to his pioneering and unsurpassed fantasia in A minor. Even Tallis’s mighty Felix namque settings tend to be prioritized for the organ. That said, its emotional variety renders the programme all the more enthralling – it is not stuck in trouble and melancholy, and Dmytro mentions Burton’s reference to “a pleasing melancholy”, a form of catharsis. In the cinema, a good director has the confidence and knows when to insert a flash of comedy into a predominantly serious film, and here Dmitry includes sunnier works such as Byrd’s John come kiss me now, Wakefield on a green (incomprehensibly attributed elsewhere to Byrd) and the attractive anonymous arrangement of Dowland’s Can she excuse (its modern printed source given wrongly in the printed booklet but correctly above). Applauding in passing the five powerful pieces by Bull, it remains to mention two others, one ancient, one modern. Seemingly the anonymous A Ground receives its premiere on disc here, and this is long overdue, being a work of substantial proportions for the period and of considerable excellence. Finally, KHORA by the Ukrainian/Dutch composer Maxim Shalygin is a thrilling and passionate response to Burton’s book, its highly appropriate title helpfully explained in the booklet.

This is a fine recording which is both moving and inspiring. It manages to be powerful without being oppressive, the wonderful music anatomized beautifully by Dmytro, none more so than Bull’s pavan and galliard for Lord Lumley, so as to externalize his own profound, innermost thoughts. From the turmoil of the Reformation, the English Virginalists provide catharsis four centuries later for a Ukrainian harpsichordist contemplating the invasion of his homeland, who in turn encapsulates this in performance and transmits it for the world.

Richard Turbet

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Telemann im französischen Licht

CD cover Telemann im franzöischen Licht

Marion Treupel-Franck flute, Vicktor Toepelmann gamba/Baroque cello, Ilhae Eizinger-Kim harpsichord
72:38
Querstand: VKJK 2502

This is an exquisitely gathered selection of chamber works befittingly under the title, “Telemann in a French light”. There are no fewer than four world premieres (sonatas from the Brussels Conservatory), and several cleverly “orchestrated” pieces from the second dozen of the 36 harpsichord fantasias (1730), and menuets taken from the two sets of 50 published in 1728 and 1730. These “transmuted” works come across with a charming ease in their new guise and fit within the overall French theme. Two of the four premiered pieces, TWV 41: e9 and G12, might be termed “Sonates en Suite”, exuding some classic elements from the French suite. The other two are just as captivating in their intimate charm and fluency; G11, although in an Italianate format, incorporates French elements, while D10 overtly follows a cantabile style, so perfect for the flute, and delightfully captured here.

The neat and ingeniously transformed fantasias and menuets add to the overall charm of this brightly recorded disc, where the trio of musicians captures the intimate nature and structure of the French taste with a relished and admirable synergy.

This is certainly one of the nicest chamber CDs I have heard for quite some time and should draw the attention of all lovers of Telemann’s chamber music. The CD booklet is well laid out and has an unusually stylish font, which is lucid and charming like the music itself.

David Bellinger

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Bach: Mein Geist

CD cover Bach Mein Geist

Le Banquet Céleste, Julien Barre vc piccolo
70:30
Alpha 1190

The framing of the solo Cello Suite No 6 in D by two of Bach’s cantatas, BWV 115, ‘Mache dich, mein Geist, bereit’ and No 85, ‘Ich bin ein guter Hirt,’ is a somewhat unusual format. Alpha’s note-writer tries, none too successfully, to make spiritual connections, but more convincingly also explains the practical reason for the link. Both cantatas are among a group of Leipzig cantatas from Bach’s second cycle (1724-1725) that specify the use of the violoncello piccolo as an obbligato instrument, now considered also the most likely instrument intended for the 6th Cello Suite, though it is also possible Bach also had the viola da spalla in mind for it.

As it turns out, the performance of the Cello Suite by Julien Barre, co-principal cellist of the B’Rock orchestra, is the highlight of the CD, an extraordinarily beautiful performance of this happy, airy work. Not only does Barre produce an exquisitely nuanced timbre from his instrument, but his technique is impeccable, with cleanly defined and articulated passaggi always at the command of the music. In the opening Prelude, the outdoor spirit of the movement is perfectly captured, with braying hunting calls and the energy of the chase clearly suggested, while in the succeeding Allemande the generous spatial imagery is projected with a broad expressivity that gives this most extensive of the suite’s movements a timeless, musing quality. At the other extreme, the following Courante takes us back out into the natural world on a madcap gallop projected by Barre with virtuosic delight, while the wistful Sarabande features some splendid double-stopping and clean chordal playing. And so continues to the conclusion of this treasurable performance.

On one level, the one-voice-per-part performances of the cantatas earn high commendation, too, but they are marred by a significant flaw. BWV115 is a chorale cantata composed for 5 November 1724. From the outset, the text is dominated by rhetorical demands or commands to which the Christian must attend – ‘Mache dich, mein Geist’ (Make ready, my spirit) in the opening chorale. The following aria for alto scolds the ‘slumbering soul’ – ‘Ermuntre dich doch’ (Rouse yourself!). The only other aria, for soprano, continues the theme of man’s inadequacy in the eyes of God, ‘Bete aber auch dabei’ (But pray, too). It is, as Alfred Dürr wrote in his classic study of the cantatas, ‘conceived in vividly text-related terms’. It is, however, exactly this sense of rhetoric that is almost entirely missing from these neatly turned performances. Listen, for example, to alto Alexander Chance’s singing of that alto aria, ‘Ach schläfrige Seele, wie? ‘Ah, slumbering spirit, what?’ It is neat and capable, but diction is poor, and it lacks any real penetration of the text, so it is hardly surprising that the ear is constantly drawn from the voice to the expressive oboe d’amore obbligato of Patrick Beaugiraud.

BWV 85 dates from April 1725. It takes its topic from consideration of the famous words in the Gospel of St John, ‘I am a good shepherd’, which are quoted at the outset by the bass soloist in a kind of mixture of accompagnato and arioso. The cantata is unusual in that the four soloists come together only in the brief final chorale, the chorale in the body of the cantata being for solo soprano, here beguilingly intoned by Céline Scheen, whose bright, fresh voice is one of the pleasures of the recording. Here the rhetorical element is less to the fore, though I would still like a stronger emphasis on diction. Again, one of the great pleasures of the performance is the instrumental contribution, especially once again the violoncello piccolo, which makes a splendid obbligato contribution to the alto aria.

I’m conscious that there are many admirers of Bach’s cantatas for whom the rhetorical element, the strong impact of the words, means less than it does to others, and they will doubtless place less emphasis on the topic of rhetoric. They are likely to find few reservations. Nonetheless, rhetoric meant a great deal to Bach and his fellow congregations, and if we are to understand fully the precept and message of these timeless works, it is something that should be of importance to us, too.

Brian Robins

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Handel: Chandos Anthems 10 & 6; Oboe Concerto

CD cover Handel Chandos anthems Musica Gloria

Musica Gloria, directed by Nele Vertommen oboe, and Beniamino Paganini harpsichord/organ
54:47
Et’cetera 1858

Musica Gloria is a young Netherlands-based vocal and instrumental ensemble whose CD ‘Georg Österreich’s Resurrected Treasures’ I welcomed warmly on this site. For their latest recording, they’ve moved forward around 30 years to give us two of the eleven anthems Handel wrote for James Brydges, shortly before he became Duke of Chandos in 1719, during his time with Brydges as resident composer (Johann Pepusch, another German émigré, was director of music). It is sobering to recognize that, had Brydges been alive today, he would almost certainly have been destroyed by the media. He elevated his country house Cannons (near Edgware) to a magnificence rarely found in England outside of royalty by means of fraudulently siphoning off large sums derived from his time as Paymaster General. So without it – over half a million pounds – no Cannons, no Chandos Anthems, no Acis and Galatea.

The Chandos Anthems were all written for the modest forces retained by Brydges, a small chorus and instrumental ensemble (without alto voices and violas) that obviously included an outstanding oboist. Here Musica Gloria field two voices-per-part along with pairs of oboes, recorders, bassoon and strings. As with the earlier CD, there is a marked impression that oboist Nele Vertommen is the driving force of Musica Gloria. Not only are her contributions to the anthems the highlights of the performances, but her playing of the solo part in the Concerto in B flat, HWV 302a, is throughout as finely nuanced and technically as assured as could be wished for.

‘The Lord is my light’ (no 10) notably sets a text drawn from no fewer than eight psalms, and ‘As pants the hart’ (no 6), which more conservatively restricts its source material to Psalm 42, are the anthems included here. Like all the anthems, they include contrasting solo and choral verses much in the style of the French petit motet, but above showing a clear relationship with the verse anthems of Purcell, a source and influence surprisingly not mentioned in the CD’s notes. Unfortunately, the performances do not match those on the earlier disc, though they may please those wedded to the Anglican tradition rather more than they do me. Like so much of that type of choral singing, there is a distinct lack of projection and communication, the performances being more concerned with making a beautiful sound than conveying a message. Diction is poor throughout, a caveat that applies equally to solos as it does to choral work. In ‘The Lord is my light’, this point is dramatically made in the mimetic choral writing at the words ‘the earth trembled and quaked, the very foundations also of the hills’, introducing the shuddering effect first used by Lully in his Isis (1677). Here it goes for little. Tempos are not always convincing either. The opening of ‘As pants the hart’ is disappointingly deliberate and understated, so by the time we reach the second, devastating line, ‘Tears are my daily food’, there has been no sense of build-up to those strong words. Obviously, as already suggested, there will be those for whom such things matter little, and they will likely find much to enjoy in the pleasing blend achieved by the beguilingly fresh-sounding voices. But there is more to this music than we are given here, and there should have been more music given on the CD, too. In this day when 80 minute CDs are no longer the exception, a mere 55 minutes is likely to raise eyebrows. So, sorry not to give more of a welcome, but the impression left is that the performers may not have been sufficiently versed in this music to bring a natural empathy to it.

Brian Robins

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Charpentier: Messe à 4 choeurs cori spezzati

CD cover Charpentier Messe a quatres chœurs Versailles

Maîtrise de Paris; Choeur de l’Opéra Royal, Consort Musica Vera, conducted by Jean-Baptiste Nicolas
68:56
Versailles Spectacles CVS164

Although the concept of spatial polychoral works for two or more choirs is particularly associated with the basilica of St. Mark’s in Venice and its many galleries that lent themselves to such works, Rome and other cities, such as Bologna, also developed a strong tradition of performing such spectacular music during the course of the 16th and 17th centuries. Throughout the period, visitors coming to Italy recorded their astonishment at the overwhelming effect that could be produced by music emanating from different locations, and indeed the chori spezzati tradition should surely be viewed as a feature of the counter-Reformation. Oddly, one country that seems to have made no attempt to create its own polychoral tradition was France. The single example of a French composer attempting to emulate it comes from Marc-Antoine Charpentier, with his Salve regina à trois choeurs and Messe à quatre choeurs. For reasons not known, Charpentier visited Rome for a three-year period during his twenties (1653-73), coming into contact not only with a wide variety of liturgical works by such masters of the polychoral tradition as Lodovico Agostini and Orazio Benevoli but also the oratorios of Giacomo Carissimi. Both profoundly affected his development as a composer.

The present disc interestingly compares the Messe à quatre choeurs with a group of works by Monteverdi, Giovanni Gabrieli, Benevoli (who Charpentier almost certainly encountered during his stay) and Agostini. The Monteverdi extracts from the 1610 Vespers, the ‘Sonata sopra Sancta Maria’ – very nicely done by the boys of the Maîtrise de Paris – or the six-part ‘Deus in Auditorium’, with its instrumental reference back to the opening toccata from Orfeo can however hardly be classified as polychoral works. Though born a generation apart, the career trajectories of Agostini (1534-90) and Benevoli (1605-72) follow a similar path, with both having studied at the Église Saint-Louis des Français in Rome. Later, both became music director of Cappella Giulia in Rome, though by that time Benevoli’s career had also taken him to a post in Vienna. The contrasting textures of Benevoli’s 24-part Dixit Dominus, as recorded in the Chapelle Royale in Versailles, seem too complex when taken at such a deliberate pace in a reverberant space, with little separation of the four choirs apparent. It should be noted that the timings for the works that proceed the Charpentier are incorrectly given in the booklet, the 1:26 given for the Agostini Magnificat, for example, more accurately timed at around 6:30.

The Charpentier mass betrays its Roman ancestry from the outset. The opening Kyrie displays the contrasts of texture and weight that are apparent throughout, the solo (petit choeur) opening featuring some lustrous singing by soprano Pauline Gaillard. Here, the entry of the other three choirs is surprisingly and unexpectedly accompanied by timpani. Anyone who has listened to the Italian pieces first will by this time know that loud timpani beats are a feature of the recording and one that conductor Jean-Baptiste Nicolas discusses at length in his notes, noting it is an experiment. Nicolas, who is a musicologist, admits that there is no historical documentation of timpanists being paid for playing church services, but points to examples in painting. Although he argues well and without being dogmatic, I cannot but feel that this is an experiment that has not been successful, indeed one that might have been better suited to a concert than the permanency of a recording. Too often, the entry of timpani comes at the cost of choral clarity or the spoiling of a moment, the most invidious being at ‘Crucifixus’, which follows a transcendent ‘Et incarnatus’, especially touching at ‘et homo factus est’ (and was made man).

I am sure there are those that will find the addition of timpani adds a sense of grandeur and there are indeed some overwhelmingly impressive moments. But I don’t think it works within the context of works that are already giving the listener a considerable aural challenge. Others may find greater satisfaction in the recording of the Charpentier mass – sung within the context of appropriate chant – made by Ex Cathedra (Hyperion, 2003), particularly since it also includes the lovely three-choir Salve Regina. There is also a version by the outstanding Ensemble Correspondances that I’ve not heard (harmonia mundi). But I’m equally sure there are those for whom the visceral excitement of the new Versailles CD will carry the day.

Brian Robins

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Telemann: Auf Christenheit!

CD cover Telemann Auf Christenheit Kölner Akademie Michael Alexander Willens

Frankfurter Festmusiken 1716
Soloists, Kölner Akademie, Michael Alexander Willens
142:35 (2 CDs)
cpo 555584-2

Sometime around the beginning of 1712, Telemann wrote an application to the Frankfurt free city authority to apply for the post of director of music, stating in the process that he wished to ‘quit court life [he had been employed by the Eisenach court since 1708] and take up a quieter one’. He was appointed to the post in March. In Frankfurt, Telemann’s brief was not dissimilar to that of Bach in Leipzig, including composing church music and occasional works for civic occasions. Of these, almost certainly the most lavish were those celebrating the birth of the Hereditary Prince Leopold to the Habsburg Emperor Charles VI and the Empress Elizabeth on 13 April 1716, an event of great political significance since Leopold became the much-longed-for heir apparent to the Holy Roman Empire, hopes dashed only months later when the baby died in November. (A daughter, Maria Theresa, would become the first Empress to rule).

Plans for Frankfurt to celebrate were set on foot for May 17, Telemann being commissioned for a sacred work to words by Georg Pritius, the preacher of the sermon. The resultant work, ‘Auf Christenheit begeh ein Freudenfest’ (TWV 12: 1a/b), was planned on a suitably lavish scale, with full scoring including three trumpets and timpani. It is cast in two parts, the first to be given before the sermon, the second after. In that sense it follows the plan of many of Bach’s cantatas, but in others it varies considerably, not least the extensive use of accompanied recitative (accompagnati), often used to colourful effect including obbligato parts, particularly for oboe, for which Telemann had the participation of the Berlin virtuoso Peter Glösch in addition to a strong line-up of vocal soloists, some brought in from the court at Darmstadt. The arias are mostly of the strophic or through-composed type and are without exception full of incidental delights and colourful scoring. The entire work is indeed a joy, here enhanced by splendid singing from the soloists, all of whom deserve mention: Hanna Herfurtner and Elena Harsányi (sopranos), Elvira Bill (alto), Georg Poplutz (tenor), and Thomas Bonni (basss), the last named particularly characterful. The chorus consists of the same voices. This entrancing work is directed with idiomatic élan by the experienced Michael Alexander Willens,* it being worth adding that those concertante oboe parts are throughout superbly played by Katharina Andres.

As if this treat in wasn’t enough, festivities continued with a banquet for those entitled to attend and more plebeian celebrations – including military shows with cannons, etc. –for those that weren’t. In the evening, those still on their feet attended an open-air performance of a large-scale serenata by the city’s director of music, who it seems may have suggested it himself (what price a ‘quieter’ life!). In keeping with such festive works, the characters of Deutschland grünt und blüht im Friede (TWV 12:1c) are mainly allegorical, there being no dramatic content. The scoring is even more sumptuous than that of the church work, its forces being supplemented by a pair of horns and three (!) bassoons, while the choral writing is in eight parts, a point rather amusingly brought into the text by the chorus. In contrast to the church music, the arias are mainly in the expected da capo form, with plain recitative rather than accompagnato. Following an extended five-movement concerto, Germania and Irene reflect on the joys of the peace that has descended on German territories, articulating the relief felt by the respite from war, respite attained in the wake of the peace treaties agreed at the end of the War of the Spanish Succession. The mood set, articulated in an aria like Germania’s ‘Mein reich lebt in vergnügter Ruh’ (My realms live in happy peace), veers between the exuberant and more reflective, characterised by an alternation of cantabile writing – here beautifully sustained, if at the expense of diction, by Herfurtner, who also deals expertly with more florid episodes. Later, Mars – a role sung by Bonni with humour and gusto – appears on the scene but promises he’ll leave Germany in peace. The City of Frankfurt endorses the sentiments of Germania and Irene, which are further enhanced by the appearance of Mercury, bringing the news of the birth of the child that will ensure peace. The work ends with military splendour and the firing of cannons, reproduced on the recording. If perhaps not quite on the same level as the church music, the serenata is again an irresistible example of Telemann’s wonderfully fecund compositional skills. As with ‘Auf Christenheit’, the performance is near-exemplary and utterly compelling.

We’re told that the performance that May night was so successful that it was repeated not just once, but twice, which is extraordinary given that the work runs 90 minutes. Even more surprising is that Telemann revived the serenata when music director in Hamburg in 1733, a fate almost unheard of for an occasional work such as this, but fully deserved in this case. There are not many occasional works that have outlasted the occasion.

Brian Robins

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Bach: Johannes-Passion (1748 version)

CD cover Bach St John Passion Pygmalion

Julian Prégardien Evangelist, Huw Montague Rendall Jesus, Ying Fang, Lucile Richardot, Laurence Kilsby, Christian Immler, Etienne Bazola, Pygmalion, Raphaël Pichon
115:00 (2 CDs in a box)
harmonia mundi HMM 902774.75

This performance of the Johannes-Passion has everything: it has Julian Prégardien on fine form as the Evangelista, and a fine operatic baritone (new to me) – Huw Montague Rendall – as Jesus, as well as starry singers like Lucile Richardot and Christian Immler in the line-up. It has the violas d’amore and theorbo of the 1723 version, and the bassono grosso of the last. It has a complex continuo scoring involving cello, double bass, theorbo, harpsichord and organ – a quite substantial instrument with at least principals 8’, 4’ and 2’ rather than the usual little box organ based on an 8’ stopped flute: but we are given no details of this instrument (which I suspect is at some distance from the main body of the performers). This leaves Pichon free to vary the continuo line where (in the Evangelist’s recitative at least) the sonorous double bass is a constant at 16’.

The soprano aria Ich folge has just the ’cello and theorbo, and the agile yet mellifluous tenor Erwäge the theorbo likewise, with, I think, the harpsichord sometimes as well. These, and Huw Montague Rendall’s Betrachte, are beautifully sung as are the arias in Part II: Richardot’s Es ist Vollbracht has that out-of-this-world tone which makes her such a striking interpreter of texts like this, and Huw Montague Rendall has the lyrical depth to give us a matchless Mein teurer Heiland – not too jaunty and hurried but with that hint of a D major resurrection in the moment of death. Not everyone will like the underlying philosophy that the singers in the arias are accompanied by the instruments rather than equal partners with them, as Zerfliesse reveals most clearly.

The splendidly drilled choir of 6.4.4.5 (a little light on alto tone) always sings separately from the six principal singers; it is miked independently so that the balance between choir, orchestra (5.4.3.1.1 strings) and soloists can be balanced artificially. All this, of course, is standard recording practice, and makes for a fine dramatic whole, which Raphaël Pichon in his liner notes spells out in his enthusiastic way, showing that he understands Bach’s take on the theology of St John’s passion gospel: The hinge-point choral Durch dein Gefängnis is sung pianissimo and unaccompanied to make the point. But when every moment of the Evangelista’s narrative is milked for its drama, then we start to suffer overkill.

Is this a conception that Johann Sebastian would recognise? Most disconcertingly for me, the exchanges between the Evangelista and the turba are between people on different planets: However sharply the turba sing and however beguiling the Evangelista woos them into his story, they yield two different sound worlds. This will be true of all performances in which the singers are divided in the modern way into being either soloists or members of the choir. This performance contradicts – as do many modern takes on the Johannes-Passion – not only what we know about how Bach conceived his music but also about how it was received. Bach’s principal singers were the basic chorus – the core participants in his Passions – to which others were added. It was emphatically not like opera, a spectacle out there with distinct roles at which we, the distant spectators, marvelled. It is we who are the participants: We are both the agents of the drama and at the same time the worshippers in church on Good Friday. A performance of the Johannes-Passion that strives for the pinnacle of excellence in its individual components may fall down on the one thing that is absolutely essential – the interconnectedness of the individual parts to the whole.

Listeners need to make up their own minds about performances like this, which many will admire and assume that this is just what Bach would have wanted. It will fill concert halls and sell the CDs. But for me, the central factor – the integrity of the whole – is missing.

David Stancliffe

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Baroque Anatomy – 5 The Eye

CD cover Baroque Anatmoy 5 Bach Telemann

Marcello Gatti flute, Alessandro Tampieri, violin, Accademia Bizantina, directed by Ottavio Dantone harpsichord
65:23
HDB Sonus HDB-AB-ST-006

Behind the rather curious heading lies an intriguing project by the consistently innovative director of Accademia Bizantina. It involves the recording of Bach’s Brandenburg Concertos issued not as a set of all six in the usual way, but rather giving each a CD to itself and surrounding it with works by Bach or his contemporaries that have a connection in instrumentation or other reason. The anatomy part the title is a rather obscure conceit, the explanation for which I leave readers to discover from Ottavio Dantone’s notes if they buy the disc, which is so exhilarating that everyone ought to at least hear it, better still, own it.

To finish explanations, there should by now be no reason not to have worked out that the ‘5’ in the title tells us that the first Brandenburg to be featured is No 5 in D, BWV 1050. The obvious companion included is the Triple Concerto in A minor, BWV 1044, which features the same three solo instruments: flute, violin and harpsichord. Also closely related as to instrumentation is Telemann’s Concerto for Flute and Violin in E minor, TWV 52: e3. Finally Bach’s eldest son Carl Philipp Emanuel moves us from the Baroque to the galant with his Flute Quartet in A minor, Wq 93, a late (1788) work actually scored for just flute, violin and harpsichord (which plays two parts) that at least in its playful outer movements is surprisingly close to the spirit of the rococo for a minor key work by CPE. A more expected mood comes with the central Largo e sostenuto, which inhabits the profoundly expressive world of Empfindsamkeit so closely associated with CPE Bach. Described in the notes as having five movements, the Telemann E minor Concerto is more accurately in four movements, the extremely brief Adagio that links the third and fourth movements acting purely as a bridge. Its opening movement has no tempo indication and is indeed one of the few places where Dantone’s chosen tempo might be queried, it sounding rather peremptory at such a very brisk speed.

No such caveats arise with the Bach concertos. Dantone has long been an exceptional exponent of Bach’s instrumental music and both are outstanding performances, notable above all for his ability to achieve an excellent balance, every contrapuntal strand thus emerging with exceptional clarity. To outer movements can be added a buoyancy and at appropriate moments a quite delicious and irresistible lightness of touch – try the opening of the final Allegro of Brandenburg 5 for a fine example. In contrast, a movement like the central Affettuoso of the same concerto breathes an aura of ineffable tranquillity, its cantabile beautifully spun by the soloists who are not averse to subtle touches of additional ornamentation. Indeed, this is most likely the moment to stress that the playing of all three soloists is first-rate throughout. Dantone’s own contribution underlines his special credentials as a Bach interpreter, seizing his great moment – the magnificent cadenza at the end of the opening Allegro of Brandenburg 5 – with a display of supreme virtuosity that is always within the bounds of sheer musicality. At the other end of the scale, listen to the sweetly empathetic exchange between flautist Marcello Gatti and violinist Alessandro Tampieri, the long-time leader of Academia Bizantina, in the beguilingly lovely Adagio of the Telemann Concerto.

Whether or not you buy into Dantone’s concept for presenting a set of the Brandenburg Concertos, there can be no argument that it is a quite exceptional start to the series. These performances joyously live and breathe a mastery and musical virtuosity that is there to illuminate the music, not the performers.

Brian Robins

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Divine Impresario

CD cover Divine Impresario Randall Scotting Academy of Ancient Music

Nicolini on Stage
Randall Scotting countertenor, Mary Bevan soprano, Academy of Ancient Music, directed by Laurence Cummings
78:37
signum classics SIGCD986

This CD concentrates on the career and repertoire of Nicolò Grimaldi, one of the first celebrity castrati and better known to his adoring public by the stage name Nicolini – the famous theatre-goer Samuel Pepys mentions the first of the Italian castrati to visit London in the years prior to Nicolini’s residence, although he is unimpressed. Famous for his stage presence as much as for his fine mezzo-soprano voice, an account of Nicolini wrestling a lion while dressed in a pink flesh suit and singing “Mostro crudel che fai?” by Francesco Mancini evokes this bizarre phase in operatic history – I leave you to devise your own Pink Panther jokes. Such was the impact of this implausible scene on audiences that they demanded that the lion be ‘revived’ for a series of encores! Perhaps for those of us with vivid imaginations, it is fortunate that Randall Scotting spares us Mancini’s setting, singing “Mostro crudel” in the setting by Riccardo Broschi, the brother of one of Nicolini’s successors as star castrato, the legendary Farinelli – towards the end of his career, Nicolini actually appeared onstage in Venice with Farinelli. Scotting has a mellow mezzo-soprano voice, and in his account of lyrical numbers such as Mancini’s “E vano ogni pensiero” he goes a long way to explaining Nicolini’s enormous popularity. Fortunately for us, in addition to performing music by the likes of Gasparini, Porporo, Ariosti and Giaj, Nicolini spent some time in London working with the young Handel, and undoubtedly influencing the young composer’s impressive early efforts at opera. As well as giving ravishing accounts of the slower, expressive arias, Scotting is more than capable of negotiating the virtuoso demands of some of the more flamboyant music audiences came to expect of their castrato idols. He also joins forces with HIP royalty, Mary Bevan, for three lovely duets, while he benefits throughout from beautifully idiomatic orchestral support from the Academy of Ancient Music under the direction of Laurence Cummings, who also contribute a fine account of the Sinfonia from Handel’s Rinaldo. As intriguing as the arias from Rinaldo and Amadigi, in which Nicolini premiered the title role, are the arias and duets by the less familiar composers, part of the ferment of operatic activity in the early 18th century.

D. James Ross

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Recording

Telemann: Complete violin concertos vol. 9

CD cover Telemann Complete violin concertos vol 9 Huber van Heerden L'Orfeo

Julia Huber, Martin Jopp, Lucas Schurig-Breuß, L’Orfeo Barockorchester, directed by Carin van Heerden
61:17
cpo 555 699-2

This recording represents the conclusion of a 22-year project to bring to the fore the varied works for one, two, three and four violins (with and without bass), including nine suites with solo violin, and TWV55:g8 with two.

Originally under the directorship and lead violin Libby Wallfisch (co-founder of the orchestra), the previous eight volumes display such admirable qualities right from the outset back in 2004.

Now it is time for the former “understudies” Julia Huber and Martin Jopp to step up and shine in these works coming from the Eisenach period 1708-12. One can hear the agile binary effect for two violins right from the fanfare-like opening intrada of the D-major concerto (a premiere). It is easy to imagine Telemann’s old musical sparring partner, the dance-master, composer Pantaleon Hebenstreit (1668-1750, inventor of a kind of dulcimer) on the instrument alongside him as they bounce off each other in vivid, engaged interplay. Julia’s 1680 Mantuan school violin has an incisive tone which often fizzes through the passages, or casts a wistful spell of melancholy in the slower movements, like both the opening and third movements of the G minor double violin concerto (quite a rare piece, for which Prima la musica! receives warm thanks for supplying the parts material here.)

In the penultimate work, the superbly contoured G major concerto, Julia Huber’s solo playing is most articulate. In the final Presto, she captures the dynamic spirit with a splendid little cadenza.

Closing the CD, the exquisite ripieno concerto in E minor, whose first movement was expanded in Dresden to make a kind of sinfonia to a cantata. Some wonderful writing here catches the ear, not least the tender Cantabile second movement, then the final, vigorous gigue–styled Presto.

Amongst these fine early examples of Telemann’s violin concertos, we have yet another take on the viola concerto, reputedly one of the earliest for this instrument.

This series has been like the vibrant and florid cover photography, a bright, vivid transit through some very noteworthy pieces, some of Telemann’s most engaging and entertaining works for violin(s).

David Bellinger